Old Knives
by HeartOfTheWild
Summary: Dystopian. AU future. Not your usual Blake.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Old knives

Carefully she ground the knife, back and forth. Back and forth. She had had this knife for a long time; a very long time, indeed. The blade was now whisper thin and getting thinner all the time. The logo was worn almost smooth and it was only with difficulty and in the brightest of sunshine could you read the word 'Wiltshire' anymore. Sooner or later, probably sooner, she was going to have to venture into the Ruins again and replace it. But not today, not yet.

She tested the sharpness of the knife against one hardened, calloused thumb. Then, leaning forward she considered the animal in the snare. A 'Potter'. Something like a Potoroo gone wrong in The Fall. Male. Good, she hated it when she caught a female and found a joey in the pouch. Quickly, with the speed born of years of practice, she released the dead animal from the snare, gutted and skinned it, quartered it, wrapped it back in the skin and put it into the dilly bag. Tonight, she and Mah would eat well. Retrieving the snare, she wound it tight and tucked it into her waist pouch. She wouldn't set a snare here again for several weeks, the animals needed time to forget the screams of the dying.

She froze as she heard a growling snarl come from the bush behind her. Devils. Quickly she scattered the guts and offal about, knowing that it would distract them, giving her time to get away before they could follow. Genetically modified to resist the Cancer that had threatened to wipe them out, the Devil were reintroduced to the mainland last century. They had become an apex predator after The Fall. Then, The Fall had twisted the modification and had turned the Devils even more fearless and dangerous than the unmodified ancestors they were bred from. Even Warrigal, the Dingo, and the feral cats and dogs gave way before their aggression. Fortunately, the Devils' fondness for carrion made them easily distractible.

They also loved hunting rabbit, which was A Good Thing, as the Fall had burned away the Myxo too.

Loping down the track she distanced herself from the butchering site. Listening and watching while she jogged, she lifted her nose to scent the breeze. All her senses alert, she could feel no danger following her nor on the trail ahead. She filled her lungs with eucalypt scented air and smiled to herself as she ran. The gums had slowly recovered from the infernos that blasted the land after The Fall. The Peninsula had fared better than most areas, the fires not quite burning everything. The ground had not been sterilized and a few Old Man gums had survived, charred and stained black. Their sons and daughters had sprung up around their feet and were struggling to gain height. Fast growing wattles and tea trees filled the understory. The bush was healing itself. She even knew of two secret spots where grapes were growing wild, sweet and seedy, vineyards gone feral.

Wonga. The top of the tallest spot on the Peninsula. She had known it as Arthur's Seat. But Mah said it's real name was Wonga. She was happy enough with that name, it was a good name, she thought as she reached the top of the mountain. She stopped and crouching by the twisted remains of the sky chair and panting slightly, looked out over the Bay. In the far distance she could just see the blasted skeletons of the skyscrapers of the old city, their bases deep in rising sea water. The lowlands were now flooded, turning the Peninsula almost into an island; another few feet of water and it would become one. A trail of greasy smoke wafted over the high ground coming from Franga; the Maxers were out again. She frowned to herself. They didn't come up this way often, they were frightened of her and Mah, but she liked to keep an eye out for them. You could never tell with that lot.

She took a drink from her old plastic water bottle then stretched to work the kinks out. Not bad for an old woman who never run before The Fall, she thought to herself. She wasn't sure exactly how long ago The Fall had happened. Fear, fever and something bordering on insanity had stolen her memory of those first years. But since the time she had woken up from the fever in Mah's humpy she had started to count the days, then the months, and finally the years. Mah had laughed with her crazily when told it was more than eighty years since The Fall. Considering it had been her 65th birthday party on the night of The Fall (a wisp of a memory; cake, wine, a weekend away and dinner at the winery with a laughing blue-eyed man, children, grandchildren, then an eye searing flash, panic, then nothing), that would mean she must be at least 150 by now. And Mah had been much, much older. Sometimes Mah spoke of the place she had escaped from during the fires, a home for the elderly near the beach down the hill a-ways.

Shaking her curly head free of the thoughts, it didn't matter. She was here, she was still alive for some reason or other, while everyone she had ever known and loved or hated was long gone to ash. At times she had thought to end herself, but a residual faith denied her that final comfort.

The Fall had burned The Old right out of her and Mah. It had changed them like it had changed the Devil and so many other things. To look at her and Mah, they could be anywhere between 40 and 80, not shoving double centuries. But she speculated about the others like her and Mah. They knew there were some out there somewhere. People of The Old. And wondered if there was a meaning to it all. And how long she would go on. How long she could go on.

Resuming her journey, down slope now, she wove her way through a gully towards this season's camp. Being careful to leave as little sign of her passing as possible she twisted around a large granite boulder and found herself in the hollow where Mah's humpy rested. A ramshackle shelter made of eucalyptus branches and bark leaned against a surviving stringy bark.

Mah had worked in an office all her life as a school administrator but said her half-caste Grandmother had been a 'Stolen' from upcountry way as a girl. Mah had been totally urban but had always read greedily about how her ancestors had survived. With memories of her Grans stories and what she had read she had put those survival skills into practice after The Fall.

'Cooee' Mozz called out softly. Sometimes Mah was asleep, and you didn't want to startle her awake. Not if you knew what was good for you.

'Watcha' Mozz.' Came Mah's gravelly voice from inside the humpy.

'Home is the hunter,' she responded. Mozz wasn't her real name, but it was as good as any other. Mah said she had buzzed around her like a mosquito after she had found her and nursed her out of the fever, so that's what Mah called her. Mozz. It had been so long since Mozz had heard her birth name she didn't really remember it any more. That was another person in a far-off time, dead and gone like everyone else. So, she answered to Mozz when Mah called her.

Mozz moved over to the smouldering campfire and squatted down. She threw a log into the firepit, poked it into life and then opened the dilly bag and pulled out the meat. Crouching over a flat rock she took out her knife and began to slice strips of the meat, alternating the meat with wild garlic leaves and threading them onto long skewers of lemon gum twigs to sear over the flames. She had always been an excellent cook.

With a groan, Mah came out of the humpy, crawling on her knee, dragging the other leg behind her.

'Where's my stick,' Mah crossly muttered, grasping about with a free hand until she located resting it by the humpy opening. Levering herself up on her good leg with the crutch she turned her body and face to Mozz. Mozz looked up and studied Mah, as she did every day, marvelling at the woman's survival. Mah had lost a foot to diabetes before The Fall. She had been wheelchair bound in the home and lord knows how she had escaped. Mah wouldn't say. But just as The Fall had burned The Old out of Mah, it had also scorched the diabetes from her body. It had also seared the vision from her eyes. But Mah still Saw with those sightless eyes. Nothing escaped her sight in the Now, or in the To Come.

Mah hop-hobbled over to the fire and not-watched Mozz with those dead white eyes of hers. She sniffed at the scent of scorching meat.

'Potter.' She commented. 'Good tucker.'

'Yep. A Harry.' Replied Mozz. 'No young 'un.'

'Good.' Said Mah.

'Enough for tomorrow too.' Said Mozz.

'No. Cook it all. Company's coming.'

Mozz glanced at Mah in surprize. 'Company? When? Who'd you See?'

'Maxers. Soon.' Mah chuckled. 'Cook it all, those kids are always hungry. Throw some of those spuds we dug up into the coals as well.'

Mozz snorted in disgust. 'I did not spend all morning hunting and trapping to feed a load of waste of space, wannabe road warriors who don't even who the hell that was!'

Mah laughed. 'Chill-lax Mozzie-girl. Maxer kids need our help. We'll be good neighbours. Everybody needs good neighbours!' she hummed a little tune from a long-forgotten TV show.

Mozz rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath 'And THAT'S something I never wanted to remember,' but began to slice and skewer the rest of the meat. The meat smouldered and steamed. Mozz turned it to avoid it getting burnt. As she did so she heard the faint sound of trail bikes on the Wonga road above them.

'That'll be them. Go fetch 'em Mozzie-girl. There's Bad Things happening down there. I have Seen. These children have been brave to come.' Said Mah.

Mozz sighed. 'If I must. But watch the meat, don't let it burn,' picking up her knife, she got up and trotted up the track back to the top of the ridge.

Mozz slowed as she reached the Wonga, slipping behind burnt husks of trees and scrubby wattle to stay hidden. She peered out from the bush cover at the two young ferals on their trailbikes. Skinny and malnourished they were grubby children with greasy hair, bad skin, tribal tattoos and many ear, nose and lip piercings. A boy and girl, Moz thought, although they both had that androgynous look of young teens. Dressed in tattered cut-off jeans and scraps of badly tanned skins, neither looked older than 12 or 13. But Moz wasn't fooled by their youthful appearance, they carried nasty looking machetes strapped to their legs and she knew they would turn killer at the hint of an insult.

She watched them silently for a minute or two assessing their state of mind. They seemed agitated, but not aggressively so. Jumpy and slightly fearful. They sat on their rat-bikes and revved the engines somewhat impatiently. The exhaust smelled of moonshine and whale oil.

Mozz stepped out from behind the bush and quietly said, 'You two come to see the Mah?'

The two Maxers jumped and twitched around to face her, hands reaching for their machetes.

Mozz raised both hands up consolingly, 'Relax kids, nothing to fear here. Just old Mozz and Mah.'

The younger one, with dark blond hair, a girl, Mozz thought, sneered at her. 'Not 'fraid of YOU, Wrinkly.' Her stance and shifty eyes denied her comment, she was deathly afraid and trying not to show it. Mozz pursed her lips at the insult.

The second feral put a hand onto the girls arm to settle her, he looked at Mozz and spoke.

'Needs ta' be seeing Mah.' He grinned winningly at her showing a mouthful of chipped and broken yellow teeth.

'She knows. She Saw you both already, ' Said Mozz briefly. The boys' smile faded.

The girl glared at Mozz, hoping that by looking her fiercest she could hide her fear. 'Take us ta' 'er then,' she demanded.

Mozz looked over both of them calmly. 'Manners, children. Manners. What are your names? We always like to know with whom we are conversing.'

The girl swore under her breath, muttering about curse naming. Again, the boy calmed the girl with a touch. Looking at Mozz he said, 'I be Twig. She be Beffie. You Ol'er Mozz?'

Nodding curtly, she replied, 'Yes, I'm Older Mozz.' Mozz disliked the prefix, but the feral clans liked to make the distinction. She looked the two ragged children up and down, then gestured to them. 'Leave the bikes here and follow me.'

Mozz turned to go, ignoring the cry of protest from Beffie. As she moved into the cover of the bush she heard Twig telling Beffie to shove it, walk on and follow Mozz or else he'd belt her one. Mozz grinned to herself when she heard Beffie's colourful reply to Twig and his chances of succeeding in that threat. Mozz decided she liked Beffie.

Twig and Beffie followed behind, crashing and thumping through the bush. Mozz rolled her eyes to heaven, these two were not wood-wise. Pushing the scrabbly wattles aside Mozz led the two Maxer kids down the hidden pathway into the gully where Mah sat by the fire waiting.

'Mah, here they are,' Mozz greeted the woman.

Mah looked up from the fire where she was minding the meal. She turned her sightless eyes to the two scruffy teens and smiled a welcome. 'Hello young 'uns. Been a while since any of your tribe been to visit me. Twig is it? And Beffie?'

Beffie gave a small gasp, and Twig paled. 'How'd ya' know that?' he demanded.

Smiling up at them Mah said, 'I Saw you both in The Now when you spoke to Mozz. Don't worry young Beffie, there's no curse naming here. Nor bone pointing or death singing. Come, sit.' Mah patted a flat stone next to her.

Beffie did not look reassured, but hesitantly came and sat down cross-legged on the proffered stone.

'You too, Twig.' Commanded Mah, patting the stone on her other side. 'Let me get to know you both a bit.' Twig joined them.

'Ol'er Mah, - ' Twig began to speak, but Mah interrupted him.

'Wait, young Twig. Let us eat something first, eh? Food first, then questions and requests after. That's how it's done.' Mah beamed sightlessly at both the children. Twig glanced nervously over to Beffie who just shrugged. Food was food and you never passed up a chance to eat when you could nowadays.

'Dish up, will you please Mozz?' directed Mah. Mozz nodded back to her and proceeded to place scorched small potatoes and skewers of meat on the sheets of Stringy-bark bark that did as plates for them. She handed around the servings to the group and they all dug in.

Mozz watched both feral children carefully as they ate. Twig and Beffie scoffed down the food as if they hadn't eaten for days, which they probably hadn't. She glanced over questioningly to Mah, who looked back with her blank eyes and nodded. Mozz took the two extra meat skewers left over and dug the last few potatoes out of the coals and scooped the extra onto Twig and Beffies' bark plates. Both children looked at her with surprise and astonishment at the largesse.

'Eat,' Mozz commanded. They didn't need to be told twice and ignoring the searing heat of the spuds proceeded to cram them into their mouths.

Mah smiled with contentment at the sounds of satisfied munching and stared blindly up into the treetops. She waited until the sounds ceased and heard the two kids burp. Then she spoke.

'You've got trouble down in Franga, haven't you? I Saw sickness and a woman in pain. A child that cries. An Old bound tightly who cannot help and burns with fever.' Said Mah gently.

Beffie looked at Mah in astonishment. Twigs' jaw hung open.

'ow kin ya' know that?' asked Beffie. 'How?'

'I See.' Said Mah simply.

Twig shook his head in disbelief. 'It's Fern, Beffie's sis. She's took bad. Babby come too soon.'

'She can't feed babby, but it won't suck from old Mags.' Said Beffie. 'Dun let 'er die, Ol'er Mah, or the babby, please!'

Mozz considered. Maxer's bred early and young. They didn't live long, 25 or 30 was old to them. A lucky few lived past 40, most were dead before then. All had children not long after puberty. No doubt young Beffie here would be pregnant in a year or two. The Fall had made the likelihood of mutations high, but mankind being what it was, that didn't stop the fornicating. Without birth control girls fell pregnant often, but 3 out of 4 pregnancies resulted in spontaneous miscarriage of a deformed foetus. This caused a heavy toll among the young women. Usually the tribes celebrated and cherished a healthy, live birth. And the mother who birthed such a child.

'It's been awhile since one of your mob came to ask me for help.' commented Mah.

Twig and Beffie exchanged worried glances.

'I Saw you had an Old one,' she continued. 'Is he the one who has helped you instead of me? Why have you bound him?'

Twig looked away. Beffie bit her lip and nodded a yes. 'But he's got the fever, now.'

'You know I cannot help you if you hold an Old bound. This is the Law we agreed on after The Fall. Us Olds would help the Maxers, but only if left in peace and free. You cannot bind an Old.' Said Mah sternly.

'Jake's says The Law was only with youse two, not with Loozie!' burst out Beffie.

Twig nodded in agreement. 'Tha's right, innit? Jake said Ol'er Loozie weren't part of the 'greement.'

Mozz looked grim. 'The Law is The Law. For all The Olds. Your Jake is wrong, he should know this, every leader is taught this by the last leader before taking on the Tribe. Stoner Leader wasn't it? Didn't Stoner pass on The Law to your Jake?'

'Jake kilt Stoner.' Beffie said morosely. 'He wanted ever so bad to be Leader, couldna' wait for Stoner to decide who were next. Just kilt him and said he was Leader now.'

'When was this? And when did Jake bind this Older Loozie? asked Mah, her white eyes glinting.

Twig counted on his fingers. 'Jake kilt Stoner 3 season ago. He ketched Loozie jus' before that?' He looked to Beffie for confirmation and she nodded in agreement.

Beffie spoke, 'Jake don' care 'bout nothin or nobody else. Said he didden care if Fern and the babby should die. I think it's 'cause Fern were Stoner's lady and it his babby. Jake said Ol'er Loozie bein' sick didden matter – Ol'er Loozie was our Old and hadda fix 'er and if he couldn' she would die. An' iffen she died, Loozie would die next. Says he don want no weak ones and no useless Olds in the tribe!' She shook her head angrily.

'Ol'er Loozie is real sick, Mah, he can't help,' put in Twig. 'We run, we run here to youse. Only youse kin help.'

'Jake's gonna' be ever so pissed at us,' Beffie said defiantly.

'I see.' Said Mah. Grunting and levering up with her stick, she rose. 'You two, sleep by the fire here tonight.'

'Bu… will you help Ol'er Mah? Please?' Pleaded Beffie.

Mah stopped by the opening at the humpy and turned and looked at her. 'In the morning, young Beffie. I need to See tonight.' With that she crouched and disappeared into the bark shelter.

Twig and Beffie looked over at Mozz.

Mozz shrugged. 'In the morning, then,' she said. With the simple expedient of tossing the bark plates into the fire she 'did' the dishes. The fire sparked brightly showing the worried faces of the two youngsters.

'You two bring a swag?' she asked. Twig nodded. 'Well, fetch it and camp out here by the fire like Mah said.'

Twig rustled off through the bush back to the bikes to fetch their bedrolls. Mozz looked at Beffie with sympathy. 'Don't worry child. Mah needs to See and then Think on what she Sees. She said to stay the night, that means she'll do what she can.' Beffie looked dubious but nodded her head.

When Twig returned Mozz helped the pair arrange their swags by the fire, showed them where the pit latrine was located and watched them bed down. Once they were settled she snagged her old woollen blanket from just inside the humpy door, wrapped it around herself, placed her knife within easy reach and settled down to sleep in her usual position guarding the entrance of the humpy opening.

By the dying embers of the fire she could see the two young Maxers and listened to the soft murmur of their conversation. Twig was reassuring Beffie and cuddled close to her. Mozz smiled to herself to hear them. Those two were a sweet couple under all the dirt, tattoos and piercings. Just a couple of young kids still. Faint memories stirred in Mozz's head.

Mozz wrapped the blanket around her shoulders tighter, shutting out the thoughts. From inside the humpy she could faintly hear Mah quietly chanting herself into a Dreamtime Trance to bring on Seeing of The Now and The To Come.

…..

Mozz woke with a start to raucous laugher of a nearby kookaburra. The sun rose in the east, burning green and gold. Mozz watched it come up. She had sat most of the night outside the humpy, dozing now and then, watching and listening to Mah chant. She didn't seem to sleep much anymore but felt rested all the same after a night under the stars. It had been late when Mah had stopped singing in the Now and Then.

Mozz glanced over at the two sleeping feral children that were curled up together to keep warm. A rare tender look crossed her face. Thoughts of her own long dead children flickered through her head again. She shook head angrily to shake off the tears threatening to start. No good crying. Not anymore.

Mozz heard Mah beginning to rustle about in the humpy. She stood up and stretched the kinks out of her back. Then after folding up the old army blanket she reached over and tossed a log onto the smouldering fire.

Mah stuck her head out of the humpy and grunted, 'Them kids up yet?'

'Not yet,' confirmed Mozz.

Mah tossed Mozz a small canvas sack. 'Make up some damper then, the smell o' food will wake them quick smart.'

Mozz looked at Mah sourly. 'You know that's the last bit of wattle flour left. No more until next season.'

Mah just grinned at Mozz and nodded. 'Yep.'

True to Mah's prediction, the smell of baking damper woke Twig and Beffie. Both tweens stretched and gaped, then one after the other disappeared to the 'necessary'. As each returned Mozz handed them a steaming hot roll of the bush bread. As with last night's meal, they made short work of the food. When they had finished both looked over anxiously at Mozz who shrugged back at them.

Beffie spoke up first, 'Ol'er Mah…' she began.

Mah interrupted her. 'Seeing the Now is easiest, young Beffie. Last night I Saw your sister Fern and the baby. Both live still.' Beffie gave a gasping sigh of relief.

'But,' continued Mah, 'Seeing the To Come is not so easy. There are many different branches and twists and turns. What we do, what others do as a result changes the To Come. I Saw many turns, but the clearest follows a dangerous path and Death stalks your tribe. It comes on the breath of a Wind.'

Mah continued speaking with a voice of prophesy, 'Twig must pull down the Wrong and restore the Right and the Tribe will be saved from the Wind. Beffie must cure the mother and the child will save Twig from the Knife of the Vengeful.' Mah turned her sightless eyes to Mozz and spoke directly to her, 'You, Dearest, must release the Older and restore the Lost and regain the World.'

Twig and Beffie both looked confused. Mozz sympathised with them. When Mah talked Dream Speak it seldom seemed to make sense at the time of the telling.

'Well that's all a bit cryptic, Mah.' Grumbled Mozz.

Mah shrugged. 'I See what I See. It doesn't come with a manual.' She reached behind her into the humpy and pulled out an old canvas backpack and handed it to Mozz. 'All I know is that you must go, Mozz, help the Older. And Twig and Beffie must return and make things right in the Tribe. The Wind is coming, and all there will die if they do not.'

Beffie scowled. 'We comes to ya' fer help and alls we gets is mumbo-jumbo!' She angrily got up and began to roll up her bedroll. 'C'mon Twig. We're outa here.'

'Beffie!' barked Mah. Beffie jumped and looked back over to the old woman. 'Here, come here.' Ordered Mah.

Sullenly Beffie returned to Mah. Mah reached up and pawed the air seeking Beffie's hand. Beffie reluctantly grasped Mah's searching hand.

'Your sister Fern will be all right, Child.' Reassured Mah in a gentler tone. 'She is worn out and tired from the birth and sad from the loss of her man. Here,' and Mah handed her a small packet of powdered and dried meat preserved in herbs, 'Soak a small handful of this in hot water, make her drink it three times a day until it is gone. Wash her with water steeped in rosemary and eucalyptus. Keep her warm. She will recover.'

'And the babby?' asked Beffie plaintively.

Mah smiled gently, 'Find the nanny-goat. There's one caught in the vines down near the old Winery.'

Beffie looked at Mah considering, then reached forward and gave her a swift hug. 'Ta' muchly Ol'er Mah!'

'Go well, Brave Child,' murmured Mah into Beffie's ear.

Twig looked askance at the older women, unsure how to proceed, then blurted out, 'Jack 'll kill us all.'

'I haven't Seen your Death yet, young Twig. Go, you'll figure it out.' Mah directed.

Mozz sighed 'We'd best get going then.' She checked her knife was in its' sheath and tucked it into her the side of her old boot, hidden. Grabbing her sleeping blanket, she stuffed that into the backpack, noting as she did that Mozz had packed it with her old water flask, some dried possum meat, a variety of bush remedies' and a few long out of date pharmaceuticals.

Leaning down she briefly touched Mah's shoulder. 'Stay safe Older Mah.'

Mah patted Mozz's hand, 'Mind how you go, Dear One. That Jake is a bad 'un. Come back to me soon. I Know you will.'

….

Mozz looked askance at the dirty trail bikes. Twig had suggested she ride pillion behind him.

'No,' she said determinedly. 'I don't think I will take you up on the offer, Twig. But thank you.'

'ow you 'specting to keep up wif' us then?' asked Beffie.

'Oh, I think I can give you a good run for your money. And I do mean run. It's only 30k or so.' She replied.

Beffie scowled.

'Never mind,' said Mozz, 'I'll race you both down the hill to the old winery.' And with that she set off on a quick jog trot cross country through the bushes, fast leaving the two on their trail bikes behind.

'Sheet'. Swore Twig and he gunned the motor sending out a suffocating blech of tarry black smoke.

Mozz ran down the hill, dodging trees and leaping wombat holes. She fairly flew down the hill. Behind her she could hear the rasping engine noise as the two bikers tried to catch her. In this broken scrubland she had the advantage. She could weave around and through obstacles where the trail bikes had to take more care. Plus, she knew the fastest way down the hill and the feral children did not. They had to resort to taking the old road for most of the way.

Taking every short-cut she knew, she turned into the old winery drive a good 5 minutes ahead of the bikers. Stopping to catch breath she took a deep drink of her water bottle. She scanned the area and heard a faint bleating coming from the twisted overgrown vineyard. Mozz peered into the tangle and saw a young nanny goat tangled in the vines. She turned at Twig and Beffie's hallooing as they bounced down the road way to join her.

Twig grinned at her a he skidded to a stop in front of her in a cloud of dust. 'Not bad for an Old 'un.' He approved.

'Cheeky,' Mozz responded with a smile. She nodded her head in the direction of the goat, 'there's your pillion passenger.'

'Sweet,' said Beffie. She swung off her bike and walked over to the mass of vines. She pushed aside some canes and peered in.

'Careful there,' warned Mozz, 'she looks pretty vicious. I can't see her kid anywhere. Dingo must have got it and she ran in here to escape it.'

It took them an hour or more to work out how to rescue the goat while avoiding it's biting teeth and slashing hooves. But eventually the nanny was securely trussed up and slung over the back of Twig's seat.

'You're going to have to keep her pretty trussed up while you milk her. At least until she tames down a bit.' Mozz said to Beffie. Beffie looked askance at the goat. It didn't look friendly nor likely to be so anytime soon.

'But before we go on, we need a plan of action, something to keep that Jack from killing us all as soon as he sees us,' continued Mozz. 'I've got an idea,' and she proceeded to tell them.

'Good 'un.' Twig nodded back at her. 'That'll work right good I reckon.' Beffie agreed.

'Right then, off we go. You two take it easy on those bikes. Shake that goat up too much and you'll end up with cheese, not milk.'

'No fear.' Responded Twig with a grin.

…

It was late afternoon when the trio arrived at the feral's campground on the high ground outskirts of what had been Frankston, now called 'Franga' by the Maxers. The fires had miraculously skirted a sporting ground and the Maxers had claimed it as their territory. It was a raggle-taggle affair of beaten up old caravans, dusty tents and shaky lean-to's. Around the campground was a defensive wall of sorts made up of boulders, dead trees and rusty barbed wire. A pair of sentries posted at the top of a look-out peered out at them.

Twig and Beffie were riding their trail bikes side by side at a quick jogging place. Between them both jogged Mozz, her hands held in front of her loosely tied with a rope, and around her neck was another rope carefully being held by Beffie.

They stopped just outside the perimeter of the campground and Beffie gave Mozz's neck rope a bit of a tug for dramatic effect. 'OY!' she called out. 'You lot! Tell Jake Leader we's come back!'

A skanky looking teen stared at them from atop the makeshift wall.

'Beffie? That you? An' Twigs?' he called. 'Jake ain't half pissed at you two!'

'Yeah, well we come to make it right. Brought him a bit of a pressie here.' Beffie the rope another tug. Mozz growled gently under her breath, 'Careful, not so realistic.'

'Wait 'ere, I'll get 'im fer you and hopes you won't be sorry fer it!' The lookout disappeared behind the wall.

Impatiently they waited on Jake. The trail bike's engines softly ticked and tinged as they cooled down. The nanny goat bleated miserably now and again, not happy at all at her fate. Mozz stood impassively trying to convince herself that this was a good idea.

A makeshift gate at the front of the wall scraped open. A stringy young man in his late teens sauntered out. He wore no shirt, just a badly tanned possum skin about his hips. A broken nose and battered face gave evidence of many fights. His head was shaved bald revealing a kaleidoscope of tattoos on his skull that blended and joined the ink displayed across his chest. He grinned evilly at them, revealing a set of broken and battered teeth. Mozz felt an ice block of fear in her stomach. This was one nasty piece of work.

'Well, well, looky-looky 'ere at what's come a slinkin' back. Bugger me.' Jake snarled.

'Wotcha' Jake.' Said Twig flatly earning a glare from Jake.

Jake swivelled his head to look at Beffie. 'Beffie, me little luv. Ya' shouldna' run like that. Poor ol' Fern's been greivin' somethin' fierce.'

He smiled again, nothing friendly in it. 'Where's me sister, where's me little Beffie' he whined in imitation. Then, quick as anything he flashed out and struck her a back handed blow across her face.

Twig froze, seething inside but making no move. Jack looked at him and grinned, assessing.

Beffie's head rocked back, but she did not fall. 'Jake.' Said Beffie impassively. 'Sorry Jake.' She spat some blood then gave the rope a tug. 'Kin we come back in? We ketched you this Ol'er here.'

Jake's attention turned to Mozz. 'A pressie! Youse brung me a pressie!' Jake pushed his face up close into Mozz's and whispered into her face. 'An Ol'er! Which Ol'er be you?'

Mozz stopped breathing, Jake's breath was something foul. 'Mozz.' She choked out.

Jake flung his head back and roared with laughter. 'Mozz! You brought me the Mozzie! Sweet lil' Beffie and Twiggy boy done good!'

'The Law,' gasped Mozz. 'You cannot…'

Jake stuck his face once more into Mozz's and sneered, 'Bugger the Law. And bugger you Ol'ers.'

The nanny goat bleated miserably behind Twig. Jake peered around in amazement at it. 'Woz this 'ere fer? Brung me dinner as well, eh?'

'For Fern! Milk fer Fern's babby. Please Jake!' insisted Beffie.

Jake considered. He knew he couldn't afford to lose the child or the woman. Normal children were rare and there were too few breeders left as it was. He looked at Mozz once more, an evil smile creasing his misshapen face. 'Well, I reckon I kin be gen'rous jus' this once Beffie girl. I kin eat that goat anytime. After all, ya' brung me the Moz…' he leered at Beffie '…an' mebbe you kin show me jus' how grateful-like you are. Later.'

Beffie shuddered. Twig gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. But Jake didn't notice as he grabbed the rope leash from Beffie's hands and gave it a fierce tug. Mozz staggered and almost lost balance.

'Come in lil' chickies, come in!' Jake commanded making clucking noises. Turning he strode back into the compound dragging Mozz behind him. Beffie and Twig followed, walking the trail bikes in. Jake strutted back into camp, calling out to all the other Maxers to come see 'the special Prezzie what Mozz and Twig had brought him'. Strolling through the centre of the campground he stopped at a large dusty clearing – the footy oval – and exhibited Mozz to an excited gathering of feral Maxers.

'Looky here, looky-look at wha' I got!' Jake crowed. He gave Mozz's leash another tug, forcing her down onto her knees in the dirt, her head bowed. Jake grasped the hair at the back of her neck and viciously yanked down, so she had to raise her head. Eyes swimming with pain she looked back at the crowd of ferals. Many were jeering at her, spitting and raising their fists, but just as many drew back fearfully when she caught their eye.

'Told youse, told youse all. Ain't nuthin' special 'bout an Ol'er. No fear here.' He gave Mozz a violent shove, so she sprawled in the dirt. Jack spat at her.

'Looky-look Ol'er Mozz. You see all me mates here?' Jake spread an arm out to encompass a crowd. 'You Ol'ers are gone, we's the Now. Dun need ya', dun wan' ya' abouts no more.' He kicked a bit of dirt into Mozz's face. 'Ya's lived too long. An ifen ya's wan' ta keep livin', ya does as I says.'

Looking to two of his henchmen standing close by, he ordered, 'Take 'er ta' the cage wid that mad Ol'er Loozie.' Then, turning to Beffie and Twig he looked them both up and down, menacingly. 'Beffie, go see ta yer sister. Stop that babby sqwacking or I'll do it for ya.'

He threw an arm around Twigs shoulder and gave him a heavy squeeze, saying, 'An Twigs? dun go far, we needs a little chat. I needs a lil' drink ta' think on what ta' do with youse. A little reward, like.'

Releasing Twigs and puffing out his chest, he raised his arms and strode back through the crowd of ferals who cheered him on.

'Prat.' Muttered Twig. But quietly so none heard. He turned to help Beffie with the goat. Keeping his eyes down he said softly, 'Ya' okay?'

'Yah' whispered Beffie through a split lip. She jerked her head in the direction of Mozz being manhandled and lead off by the two cronies. 'Hope she is too.'

….

Mozz was roughly dragged to her feet, her backpack ripped off. One of the goons opened the pack and poked and prodded through it. Finding nothing of interest to him in it he tossed it back to her. He gave her a quick pat down but didn't bother checking her boots. Each man then grabbed an arm and frogmarched her through the camp.

As she was half dragged, half pulled through the camp Mozz darted her eyes around, taking note of the sorry state of the people living there. Filth and despair reigned here. She wondered how any of them managed to have survive this long in such conditions.

They dragged her to the far end of the dusty oval, where in full sun, a cage sat. It was constructed of old iron piping held together with wire and rope. A makeshift door of bars was padlocked with a chain. One of the thugs released her arm and dug about in a dilly bag tied to his waist for a key and opened the lock. The second thug untied her hands and took the rope off from around her neck. The pair of them flung her into the cage and locked the door behind her.

Mozz fell heavily into the dirt.

'There ya' go luv,' chortled the first, ''ave a lovely little chat with crazy Ol'er Loozie there.' And they strode off laughing.

Mozz sat up and looked around the cage. It was securely put together, despite its ramshackle look. No shade in the burning sun. Mozz was glad it was nearly sunset. A bucket made of stringy bark filled with scummy water sat in one corner. In the other corner sat a duplicate bucket, covered with a piece of bark and emitting a noxious odour. And there, in the furthest corner, sat something that looked like it might be a man covered in a filthy blanket.

Struggling to her feet, Mozz staggered over to the creature and crouched down beside him. Gently she pulled off the blanket and reached over and turned the man's bearded face toward her. He groaned and opened a pair of bleary blue eyes to stare at her in shock and recognition.

'Jean?' he croaked. 'I have waited so long for you.' His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

Mozz rocked back on her heels. At the sound of her One True Name, a cascading waterfall of memories rushed through her head. Tears sprang in Mozz's eyes as she looked at the man laid on the ground.

In disbelief she reached out to him and spoke his name.

'Lucien?'

…..

 _Okay - I have been working on this one for a few weeks and I admit it came from nowhere sane and is quite bizarre. Let me know if I should continue... Wild_


	2. Chapter 2

Old Knives – 2

Mozz sat in the dust, looking at Older Loozie in disbelief. Decades old memories locked in her head broke through. Long forgotten images of Christopher, a farm in Ballarat, two sunny little boys. Then a war bringing death and a despair that was healed by this man laying by her in the dirt. Happy years that followed.

They had been together on the night of The Fall. Celebrating her birthday with family and friends, a special weekend away. She remembered a noise that she felt rather than heard, then a searing flash of light. Then burning, burning. Thrown apart by the blast she had reached to him, calling desperately, for him, for her boys, her granddaughter and finding no one. A primeval and basic animal instinct to burrow, dig deep and hide, took over. Eventually, somehow, she woke in a wine cellar protected from the fires and safe. But alone. How she had gotten there she could never remember. Days after the fires she had wandered the blasted landscape, dazed and in shock, calling for him, searching. And then the Fall Fever and Madness took her. She knew nothing until she had woken in Mah's humpy.

So, she had put the Past out of her mind and concentrated on the Now and left what was To Come for Mah to deal with.

She looked down at the man that lay in front of her. Could it really be Lucien? Where had he been for all these decades? Oh Lord, she prayed to a God she thought had long abandoned her, what was she to do? Suddenly she felt a surge of anger at this man. How DARE he be alive? After all these years how dare he! What on earth had he been doing all this time?

Taking a deep breath, Mozz, (she could not yet bring herself to remember the Jean of old) took hold of her thoughts that were threatening to destroy her carefully maintained sanity and buried them deep once more. Now was not the time. Now was the time to take charge and help this man, help these children and this Tribe. That was her goal first and foremost.

Swallowing her anger, she braced herself as she reached forward and felt his forehead. Burning hot. Mozz lifted his wrist and felt his pulse. Not too bad, a bit fast and thready, but still strong. She leaned closer to him and sniffed. No smell of corruption, that was good. Lord he needed a bath though. She pulled down the tattered blanket and stared at the body she had once known so well. The broad shoulders were still there. His chest still dusted with golden hair. But she was shocked to see how wasted and thin he was. Not an ounce of fat anywhere, lean and stringy.

Mozz rose and turned away, biting her lower lip. Looking around she saw a scrawny child of around 6 or 7 watching curiously from the other side of the bars of the cage. A little girl? Mozz smiled at the child and it looked back at her blankly from under a crop of roughly shorn black hair.

'Hello,' said Mozz gently.

The child started and drew back a step. Not exactly fearful, but wary.

'It's alright. I won't hurt you.' Mozz smiled again at the waif and took a step closer. 'What's your name?' she asked.

The child scowled at her. Mozz cocked her head and kept smiling. 'Mine's Mozz. Older Mozz.'

The child merely gave a sniff then wiped her nose on her arm. Mozz took another cautious step forward. 'Do you know how long the Older there has been sick? Can you tell me?'

The child looked from Mozz to Lucien then back at Mozz, still dumb.

Mozz tried again, 'He's awfully sick. He may die if I can't help him.'

The child's blue eyes widened at this news. 'e cain't die. 'E's an Ol'er. Ol'ers don die.' The child proclaimed.

'Oh, everything dies, sooner or later.' Said Mozz sadly, wondering at the cruelty of the possibility.

'Doan let 'im die, Ol'er Mozz! Doan let 'im! I likes 'im! An' he likes me!' The child declared in a sudden expression of passion.

Well, my goodness! Thought Mozz to herself. Charming the ladies to the last, was Lucien. But all she said was, 'If I knew how long he's been sick, it would help.'

The child considered. Looking down at her grubby hands she counted off on her fingers, then held up eight filthy digits.

'Eight days? He's been this sick for eight days?' Mozz was dismayed. Who knows what a fever like this could do to a man's brain over eight days.

'No tha' sick. On'y a lil' bit sick first. He hurled a lot at firs' an got ta' trots. On'y laid down ta' sleep like tha' a day or so ago. Wouldna' get up and tell me stories no more.' Said the child sadly.

'OY! You Kira! Git away from there ya' little scrot!' Rang out a shout. The child, Kira, started and looked over her shoulder at one of Jake's henchmen striding across the oval towards cage. Kira looked back at Mozz, shrugged and then darted quickly off.

The burly thug watched Kira flee, then approached the cage and glared at Mozz. 'Jake says youse ta' fix up Ol'er Loozie. Ya' gots three days.'

Mozz drew herself up tall and gestured with one hand. 'Here? With no fresh water? No shade in the sun? No fire in the night?'

The guard sneered at her. 'You Ol'ers are majick ain't ya? Majick him better.'

'I can't work 'majick' without water and a fire!' declared Mozz stoutly, refusing to be cowed by this brute.

The guard just grunted, 'Water and food at sundown' and left.

Once again Mozz calmed her anger. Looking at the sky she judged it another 3 hours or so to sunset. She strode over to the water bucket in the far corner and peered down into it. Cupping a hand, she took a small amount up to her mouth and tasted it. Her nose wrinkled. Bore water from the taste of it. Slightly brackish, but possibly alright to drink. Certainly, good enough to wash him down with. She had a half a bottle of clean water left in her pack, maybe she could get him to drink some of that. Mozz dragged the water bucket over to where Lucien lay.

Mozz crouched down next to him. Digging into her pack she pulled out a bit of old clean rag and soaked it in the brackish water. She hesitated to touch him. Then took a deep breath and carefully wiped his face and torso clean of dirt, sweat and old dried vomit. Rinsing the cloth again and again, she patted his face with the cool damp cloth. Lucien moaned, and his eyelids fluttered.

'Shhhh. Shhhh. It's alright Lucien. I'm here. I'm here now,' she crooned while continuing to wash his face and body attempting to cool the fever down.

She reached into her pack and considered. Did he have the Fall Fever? From what that girl Kira said, he had vomited first. And from the smell of the other bucket his bowels had voided as well. Food poisoning? Or perhaps some variant of the flu' bringing on a Fall Fever? Mozz dug around in her pack and pulled out a blister pack of long-out-of date amoxicillin antibiotics. Mah had found them sealed up in a fridge in an old doctor's office. Probably useless by now but Mah said this is what she had given her to bring her out of her Fall Fever. He was dying anyway so it couldn't hurt any worse.

She popped two pills out of blister pack, noting that there were only 6 more left. Hopefully they would still work and would be enough. Mozz knew they should be given with food, but what else could she do? She could only hope that he could keep these down.

Moving closer to Lucien, Mozz pulled the bucket over with her as she did so. Carefully, oh so carefully, she lifted his head, scooted her bottom under and resting his head in her lap. He moaned once more and opened his eyes, looking blankly up at her face.

Bathing his face once more she asked, 'Lucien? Can you hear me? Lucien?' He blinked at her and gave a soft moaning 'Jean' in reply.

'Lucien, I need you to swallow this, love. Please, try and keep it down,' She raised his head and pulling his jaw open she placed one of the pills on the back of his tongue. Tipping water into his mouth to follow she held his jaw closed forcing him to swallow. He heaved and coughed some of the water back up, but the pill went down.

'Good, good, love. Now the second,' Mozz repeated the act again successfully. Holding his head up she gave him the a little more of the clean water to drink. He drank thirstily, then fell back into her lap, exhausted.

'Shhhh,' crooned Mozz stroking his face, 'shhhh, love.'

…

The shadows lengthened. She worried what was happening with young Twig and Beffie. Worried about Lucien. All she could do was to keep wiping Lucien down hoping to cool his fever. Luckily it seemed he had kept the pills down but she worried how to keep him warm if the shivers came on.

The sun dipped lower and lower in the horizon. The temperature began to cool slightly as a sea breeze wafted up the hillside. Mozz eased a cramped leg, carefully moving Lucien's head so he was laying as comfortable as possible on the ratty ground sheet. He moaned again, eyelids fluttering. She stood up, stretching out the cramp and the kink in her back.

She looked around the footy oval, taking in the compound fully for the first time. For all its outwardly dishevelled appearance there was a logical organisation to it. One end of the campground was devoted to caravans and tents for sleeping and living. The original ablution block at the far end of the footy oval was set up for washing and outdoor showers. Away to the side was a large communal cook tent with picnic tables set up beneath. Smoke and not quite appetising smells were wafted across from this cook tent.

She watched as two young men came out of the cook tent and walked across to the cage. As they came closer Mozz could see that one was one of her earlier guards, the burly one, but the second was Twig! He was carrying a bowl of something with a spoon sticking out of it. The older guard held the keys and opened the cage door allowing Twig to step inside.

'Twig?' asked Mozz in amazement.

Burly scowled at her and growled out 'Ear's yer tea. S'all ya' get's till mornin. Twig 'ere is yer new minder. He's ta' bring ya' food and water.'

Twig stood tall and puffed out his chest a bit. He frowned menacingly at Mozz for effect. 'I been p'omoted. Jake's real pleased wit me fer bringin' ya' in! So's ya best watch it!' He said it menacingly, then he thrust the bowl into her hands while giving Mozz a sly wink on the side.

'Is Beffie okay? The baby?' Mozz asked him.

'None yer' bisness, Ol'er!' Twig was getting into the spirit of the role.

'Stop skittin' about, get ta' slops and bring 'em fresh water.' Ordered the guard giving Twig a bit of a clout around the head.

'Rightoh', said Twig giving Mozz another pretend glare. He grabbed the slop bucket and hauled it out of the cage with a 'Phew, tha' don' half pong,' carted it off to the ablutions block. Twig soon returned and then repeated the exercise filling up the water bucket with fresh bore water while Burly watched on.

Mozz stood next to Lucien and watched helplessly. Just as the two were turning to leave she spoke up quickly. 'Fire! I need a fire for him tonight. It gets too cold at night. He's sick, I need to make medicine.' she pleaded.

Burly finished locking the chain back around the door and grinned evilly at her through a mouth of blackened teeth. 'Sure Ol'er, sure. Burn anything youse like. Majick it up 'ef ya' can!' And he cast a wave around the empty cage, chuckling.

Twig looked back at her and shrugged. Nothing he could do. Burly poked him in the back making him hustle back to camp.

Mozz looked at the bowl she still held in her hands. Lifting it up to her nose she gave it a sniff. Some sort of rabbit stew. Not much meat, but plenty of greasy liquid. Well, at least it was still warm. Seating herself carefully next to Lucien once more she raised his head into her lap. His eyes fluttered open and he stared up at her blankly.

'Eat Lucien, try and eat,' Mozz brought a spoon of the liquid up to his lips. With a great deal of effort and a lot of mess she managed to get some of the broth down into him. Satisfied, Mozz, ate the few lumps of stringy rabbit meat that was left.

Wiping his face clean once more, Mozz felt his forehead. He was still burning with fever. She dug out another of the pills and coaxed him to swallow it down.

'Are thems majick beans? Like in the story? Will he grow into a bean stalk?' asked a voice behind her.

Mozz jumped a little and turned her head to see that Kira had returned and was crouched close to the edge of the cage, reaching her hand in and stroking the arm that Lucien had flung out.

'Majick? Maybe. I hope. But not a bean stalk.' Responded Mozz. 'He needs other medicine too. I could make him some if I had a fire… willow tea for the fever.'

Kira's blue eyes looked at her from under the tangle of her hair. 'Kin you make fire if I brings you sticks and things?'

Mozz looked back at her blankly. 'Yes. I have flint and tinder.'

'If I brings you sticks and things will you tell me stories?'

'Um, yes, yes of course.' Replied Mozz bemusedly. With that Kira turned and darted off. Mozz watched her leave, shaking her head. It seemed Lucien had an ally in the camp.

….

The air got cooler. Mozz dug into her pack and pulled out the old blanket she had stowed there. Carefully she tucked it around Lucien and made him as comfortable as possible.

'Phsssshtttt.'

Mozz turned to see Kira had returned and was shoving bits of bark and small sticks through the lower openings of the barred cage. Kira looked up at Mozz and gave her a crooked grin.

'I's brings more,' she declared and darted off.

Smiling to herself Mozz collected up the random bits of bark and wood and began to pull it together into a heap. Looking around the cage floor she scraped together a few rocks and bits of broken concrete and created a fire ring close to where Lucien lay.

Turning at a noise she saw Kira pushing more bits of wood through to her. 'Thank you,' she said softly. Kira grinned back cheekily and darted off for another load.

Striking her flint Mozz set the tinder alight. Blowing carefully, she coaxed a small flame into life, feeding it bark and some of the larger sticks Kira had supplied. Digging into her pack once more she located her tin mug, filled it with water and set it at the edge of the fire to heat. She found the strips of willow bark in the pack and dropped a few pieces into the mug to seep. It would be bitter but Mozz hoped the natural aspirin would help reduce Lucien's fever.

'S dat nuff?' asked Kira anxiously from the side of the cage where she was shoving more wood in. Mozz looked and nodded in approval at the goodly pile of sticks and bark. It would burn quick and hot, but it was enough to help. And just in time too, as Lucien had started to shiver as his fever turned to the chills.

'Wotch'a makin' Ol'er? Majick?' Kira asked as she watched Mozz stir the steaming mug with her dinner spoon.

'Just natural magic. Anyone can make it, even you Kira.' Replied Mozz. Kira looked back at her doubtfully.

'It's just bark, from the willow tree. You know willow trees?' Asked Mozz. Kira nodded.

'Well, in the springtime you can peel off the bark from young branches. Then you let it dry and if you put some in hot water and let it soak it for a bit makes a tea that can help if you have a fever.'

Mozz looked at Kira disbelievingly. 'Really? It will make 'im better?' She asked.

'Really.' Mozz replied, with a confidence she hoped was not misplaced. Taking care not to burn her fingers Mozz moved the simmering cup away from the fire to let it cool. Settling down next to Lucien once more she checked his pulse, felt his sweaty forehead, noted his shivers were increasing and so tucked the blanket tightly around him and fed more wood to the fire. Kira watched Mozz solemnly.

'So, what sort of stories do you like, young one? Which ones did Older Loosie tell you?' asked Mozz.

Kira's face brightened. 'Lots n' lots. But best 'un is all tha' story 'bout the love'y Princess wit' da' curly hairs who's lived in Ball'rat and saved da' sad prince from a fate worsen' death as she was ever so clever and pretty and helped da' sad prince figgur out all sorts a' puzzles and t'ings!' Kira burst out with a rush of words.

Mozz was nonplussed. 'Really? And how does that one end?'

'Happys evers after a' course! Silly.' Squealed Kira with glee.

Shaking her head in disbelief Mozz wondered if their current situation could really be described as a 'Happy evers after'.

'Well, I don't know that one anymore,' said Mozz somewhat sadly, 'how about I just tell you about the Princess and the Pea?'

Kira pouted, but agreed and settled herself as close to the cage bars and Lucien as she could and wriggled in anticipation. Mozz settled Lucien's head into her lap once more, gently stroking his hair as she proceeded to relate the tale of long ago to this feral child of today.

….

'and so, the Prince and Princess Pea lived happily ever after!' concluded Mozz.

Kira sighed contentedly. She told Mozz it was a, 'bonza story, but ain't as good as the Curly Princess from Ball'rat.'

'Well,' said Mozz somewhat disconcerted, 'not all princesses are as lucky as that one was.'

'Kiiiiiiira! Kira! Where is ya' girl!' came a shout from across the footy oval. Kira started up and peered over the paddock.

'Bugger' she muttered. 'Me' aunties callin' me. I's gots to go Oller Mozz. Tanks' fer the story! Laters!' and the child dashed off into the descending night.

Mozz shook her head slightly. Really, she thought, Curly Princess? She looked down at her 'sad Prince' and felt his forehead. Still too hot and sweaty. Reaching forward she felt the tin mug to see if it had cooled down enough to handle. It had, so once more she levered Lucien up, holding him upright with one arm braced across his shoulder and letting him lean back into her chest.

'Jean?' he murmured. 'I'm cold, love. So cold…' his eyes were closed and Mozz doubted he was really aware of where he was, what he was saying or who she was.

'I'm here, love,' Mozz replied with a crack in her voice. 'I'm here.'

'Thirsty. So thirsty.' He mumbled through cracked lips.

Mozz reached down and took up the tin cup, digging out the willow twig and throwing on the fire. 'This is going to taste horrible, Lucien. But I need you to drink it.' She put the cup to his lips and he opened his mouth. She poured a little into his mouth only to have him cough and try to spit it out again.

'No Lucien. No. You need to drink it.' She forced his mouth open and gave him more to drink, holding his jaw closed so he would have to swallow.

'Urggh.' He grunted.

'It's alright, love, just a little more, it will help.' Lucien screwed his face up but opened his mouth again. Mozz poured the rest of the bitter tea down his throat, and surprisingly, he drank it down without a murmur.

'Good Lucien, good.' Said Mozz approvingly as she laid him back down on his filthy pallet, tucking the blanket around him again. She turned back to the fire, intending to put on more wood and boil water again, when she felt Lucien's hand grasp her ankle. Turning she squatted down and looked at him in amazement. He looked back up at her, for the first time she saw comprehension in his blue, fever reddened eyes.

'Jean?' he whispered in question. Mozz bit her lip and choked back a sob.

'Your Curly Haired Princess in the flesh,' she responded in as light-hearted a voice as she could muster. Gently she stroked his hair.

Lucien smiled and closed his eyes.

…..

Carefully Mozz tended the small fire, hoping the warmth of it would ease Lucien's chills. She put on another dose of willow bark to seep. Sitting back on her haunches she looked around the cage again in dismay. Across the oval she could hear sounds of whoops and hollers, as if there was a party starting up. She shook her head slightly in frustration. This wasn't going quite the way they had planned it. She wasn't supposed to be locked up with Lucien! They had expected she would be watched, but she was meant to be helping the tribe, winning them over. That couldn't happen when she was locked up in this cage!

'Mozz! Ol'er Mozz!' whispered a voice from outside the cage. Mozz peered into the gloom.

'Beffie? Is that you?' she whispered back.

Beffie stepped up to the cage out of the dark. 'S' me.' She affirmed.

Mozz felt a surge of relief. In truth, she had begun to wonder if she could trust Beffie and Twig.

'Are you okay? How is your sister? And the baby?' Mozz asked the girl.

Beffie cocked her head. 'Sissy's better. Tired, says she just tired. Says ta' fer the soup. Furs 'ting she's been able ta' eat fer days. Got the babby to drink some of that milk! An' that nanny goat's a right bastard too!'

Beffie showed Mozz a bruise on her forearm where the goat had bitten her. 'Gots ta' keep her feets tied t'gether ta' milk 'er. Right bastard.'

Mozz chuckled slightly. She had no doubt that Beffie could 'get the goat' of a goat.

'If you can, try and get your sister to suckle the baby. You never know, her milk could still come in.' advised Mozz. 'Even if it doesn't, she needs to hold the little one.'

Beffie nodded her understanding. 'That Jake p'omoted Twig to guard.' She informed Mozz. 'I reckon he jus' wants ta' keep 'is eye on 'im.'

'Yes, probably.' Agreed Mozz. 'But this could help us in the end, him being close to Jake.'

'Mebbe.' Said Beffie doubtfully, 'Tha' Jake's a mean snake, but. I don' trust 'im.'

'We just have to follow the plan and hope for the best. You get your sister better. I get Older Loosie better. Then we see what we can do about Jake.'

Beffie nodded again, then asked, 'Some of the girls, well, they want to know iffen they kin come see ya' tomorrow an' ya' help 'em too. Some's sick or their kiddies got the pink eye and things.'

'Yes,' replied Mozz. Maybe she could still help the tribe from her cage. 'If I can help, I will try. But tell them not to all come at once. And if any could spare a blanket?'

'I'll arsk,' said Beffie, then with some trepidation she looked over at Lucien. 'Ow's the Ol'er doin?' she asked.

'Too soon to tell.' Said Mozz carefully.

As if on cue, Lucien moaned and thrashed a bit, throwing off his blanket. He had stopped shivering was sweating again.

'I've got to look to him.' Mozz looked at Beffie. 'Please, you be careful. Watch out for that Jake, stay well out of his way.'

'No fear o' that, Ol'er!' said Beffie as she slipped off into the night.

…..

Beffie returned briefly and handed over a threadbare old army blanket. But it was a long, long night. Lucien alternated between bouts of sweating and chills. At the height of his fever he rambled deliriously, calling out for Jean, warning her of 'Wind and Fire! Run Jean, Run!'

Mozz held him in her arms and rocked him, soothing and calming him as best she could. She bathed his face in his fever. She forced more willow tea down his throat when she. Finally, the small pile of wood burned away, and the chill of the night settled over them. Mozz crawled onto the pallet with Lucien, covered them both with the blankets, wrapped her arms around him and spooned into his back, warming him in her embrace when he shivered with the fever chill. Eventually her presence seemed to calm him, and he fell into a hot but still, deep sleep with her arms encircling him. Mozz too, dropped off into a light doze as he calmed at last.

Mozz woke as the first shafts of sunlight hit her face. She was still pressed up tightly against Lucien's back, her right arm 'dead' under the weight of his head resting on it. Slowly and painfully she eased arm out from under his head, and he grumbled in annoyance but did not wake. She grimaced as the pins and needles tingled up her arm. She looked down at Lucien's haggard face in concern, but then had to smile as he rolled onto his back and began to snore! Feeling his forehead carefully her smile became a joyful grin as she realised his fever had broken.

…..

 _Sorry to take so long. Life. The Universe. Everything._


	3. Chapter 3

Old Knives – 3

Lucien woke.

Through blurred vision he stared uncomprehending above him, wondering what he was doing still alive. Although, he had to admit it to himself, it seemed very difficult for him to die these days. Lord knows, he had wanted to end it many times. Only that secret hope, that sure knowledge buried deep in his heart had kept him putting one foot in front of another

He blinked hard, trying to clear his sight. Eyes watering slightly, he blinked again, rolled his eyes and things began to come into focus.

A tattered old blanket suspended on sticks hung above his head. Someone had constructed a sort of make-shift sunshade sheltered him from the blazing sun offering a bit of relief from the heat. He blinked hard again, and his vision still foggy.

He felt exhausted, as though he had run a thousand miles, every muscle ached. He stretched his back muscles, feeling them click. He vaguely remembered being sick. Something he ate, food poisoning? Or maybe one of Jakes' cronies trying to hasten his demise. He grinned with a rictus smile. Poisoning kicking into The Fever. The worst Fall Fever attack he had ever experienced, but he had survived once again. And it had brought such dreams! They had seemed so real, dreams brought to life and warm living flesh. Lucien sighed to himself. Such dreams. He had had them before, maybe not so vividly, but always just dreams. She was gone, he told himself for the millionth time, trying to convince himself. It didn't matter what his heart felt or his 'gut' believed, intellectually he knew she must be gone.

Slowly his thoughts began to order themselves in his head. The Maxer Tribe. He was with the Maxers, they had bound him and thrown him into this cage. Ordered him to be their healer and shaman on demand. His thoughts were sluggish. There was something. Something he was meant to do, but his brain was like porridge.

Carefully he rolled his head to the side. Squinting into the harsh sunlight he could see someone standing inside his cage at the far corner, back to him, a shape outlined by the harsh midday sunlight. He blinked hard, trying to focus on the figure. Slight. Female? He was sure he knew that shape. He peered closely. Shorn head, but curls and waves in chestnut hair. Once more he blinked hard, his eyes swimming with tears, a headache threatening. Now he was suffering from hallucinations again. He must be going mad. Again. He closed his eyes against the impending headache, refused to believe his eyes and fell back asleep.

…

Mozz was deep in consultation with one of the Maxer females when she felt her back itch. He was watching her, she knew. She ignored the feeling for as long as she could, then turned to look over her shoulder back at Lucien. Mozz shrugged slightly, he was fast asleep, it was just her imagination working overtime.

She turned her attention back to young woman who held a squirming young boy of around 5 or 6 on her lap. His eyes were crusted over with pink eye.

'Warm salt water. Boil the water first, then bathe his eyes gently, wiping away the crust.' She instructed.

The young woman looked confused. 'Salt? Whar emeye gonna git salt?'

Mozz held onto her patience. 'You can use sea water if you like – but you mustn't use it straight from the ocean. Add one cup seawater to two cups fresh, boil for 200 heartbeats. Let it cool then use it. Make sure there isn't any sand or anything floating in the sea water. Keep your hands clean when you wash his eyes, and don't touch your eyes after until you wash your hands unless you want to catch it too.'

'Dunno ifen he'll let me do that,' said the woman dubiously, indicating the reluctant child on her lap.

'Hmm,' considered Mozz. 'What's his name?'

'err… Tomis, e's Tomis.' The woman replied.

Mozz reached forward through the cage and tweaked Tomis' leg. 'You. Tomis!' She said sternly. 'What's the thing you like doing best in the world, Tomis?'

Tomis froze in his mother's lap and considered Mozz.

'Well?' asked Mozz a little more gently.

Tomis' mother poked him and instructed, 'Ansa' the O'ler, Tomis.'

Tomis gulped. 'I likes to climb the trees best of anything.' He squeeked.

His mother nodded and agreed, 'Yars, 'e's always upa' tree. Cain't git 'im ta' come down sometimes.'

'I likes it up there!' protested Tomis. 'Ain't nobody climb 's high as me! An' the birds is there, and the eggs, an I kin see the water an' ever so far away is alla blue …' then he continued in a softer voice '… an' I's safe up there.' He was a small child and easy prey for the larger children. He liked to climb to the highest tops of trees to escape the bullies.

'Well young Tomis,' Mozz spoke directly to the child. 'What you have is called conjunctivitis. It's a disease of the eyes. And if you don't let your mother wash your eyes 3 times a day it can become very serious. So serious that it can affect your sight. And if that happens, you won't see well enough to climb any trees, much less see 'ever so far away'.

Tomis looked fearfully at Mozz, so she softened her tone somewhat and continued, 'But if you are careful and let your mother treat your eyes by the end of the week they will be good as new, and you will be climbing every tree in sight! I will need a good look-out. Can you do that for me?'

Tomis nodded his head doubtfully but agreed to do as was requested of him. Mother and son rose to leave, the mother passing through a small bundle of wood as 'payment' for the consultation. Mozz murmured a 'thank you', she would add it to pile of other offerings she had received already from earlier consultations – a lumpy hand-made clay bowl filled with bush tomatoes, a few sour apples, more wood, and best of all, a conical 'coolie' style hat made from local reeds.

Tomis and his mother had been the last of her morning 'patients'. No doubt there would be more later today when the word spread through the camp that there was an Older who was willing to help. However, the Maxer's were a surprisingly healthy group of ferals, if a bit undernourished. So far it had been nothing serious, just things like a bad case of ringworm, a young man with a persistent cough (Jean suspected asthma), children with lice, conjunctivitis; all common diseases of a group of people living in close quarters with limited sanitation. All were fairly easy to treat with the bush remedies she had in her pack. She was always surprised and pleased with the effectiveness of tea-tree tinctures/poultices and eucalyptus steam for these ailments.

Mozz turned and walked slowly back to where Lucien lay. She added the kindling to the steadily growing pile of firewood. Then she tried the sun hat on for size, tying it loosely under her chin by the grass strings. Reaching out, she took one of the small sour apples and squatted under the make-shift shade next to Lucien. She gazed at his face pensively as she took a bite.

'Where have you been all this time?' Mozz said somewhat acerbically.

Lucien opened his eyes and stared at her in shock. He blinked once, then tears filled his blue gaze.

'Jean?' he asked in disbelief, his voice hoarse and shaky.

'They call me Older Mozz, now.' She replied tersely, reaching forward and wiping away his tears. The gentleness of her action belied the anger in her voice.

'But you are Jean? My Jean?' he pleaded. 'I have been looking and looking for you… I felt… I knew…'

Mozz looked away, her throat constricted, and tears threatened her as well. But she needed to be strong. Hard. She looked back down at him, anger in her eyes.

'Jean's dead. I'm Mozz. I thought you were dead.' She said flatly. 'Dead along with all the rest.'

Lucien shook his head slowly. 'I think I was, for a while anyway. I don't remember much. Just the flash and bang. Then the fires. We were thrown apart. Running, I only remember running from the fires, I called for you, I looked, I couldn't find you. I tried, I tried to find you, but the fire…'

Mozz nodded slowly. She had run too, had tried to find him as well, but they had been separated by panic and fear.

Lucien continued, 'We ran, we hid from the fires. Christopher found an old fire bunker and he dragged me in there…

'Christopher!' Mozz said in shock. 'My Christopher? My boy? What are you saying? Christopher is alive?'

Lucien reached out and grasped Mozz's hand. He shook his head sadly at her. 'He was Jean. He was, for a time. He brought me out of the fires, he cared for me when The Fever hit… he took me home … a long, desperate time… then he caught The Fever. I tried Jean, really tried, but The Fever took him hard. I couldn't save him.' He said with despair.

All the grief and pain she had locked away for decades flooded back into Mozz. She snatched her hand away from Lucien's grasp, stood up quickly and walked to the other side of the cage. Mozz stared blankly across the oval, unseeing. She couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear to look at him, to think of her boy, alive, then dead all over again.

'Jean!' called Lucien weakly. 'Please!'

Mozz stiffened her back at his call. Her heart turned to ice. He should be dead, too, she thought. She could not rejoice in him living, not when everyone else was gone. She turned and strode back across the cage, anger in every step. She stopped and glared down at him.

'Oh Jean, I am sorry Jean, so very sorry,' pleaded Lucien.

'My. Name. Is. Mozz.' She said tightly, then turned away.

…..

'O'ler Mozz? Oler?'

Mozz blinked. She had been blindly staring out of the cage for who knows how long. Lost in memories and grief, she had ignored everything about her. Including Lucien. ESPECIALLY Lucien. Bringing her mind back to the present, she focussed on the voice calling her.

Beffie stood outside the cage regarding her with concern. 'Ya' okay?' she asked.

Mozz sighed. 'I will be okay. Just memories, old, old memories. Sad, unlucky memories.'

'Youse lucky.' Declared Beffie.

'Lucky?' Scoffed Moz. 'If you had any idea, any idea at all of what I've seen, had to do…' she broke off angrily, not wanting to say more.

'Lucky youse an O'ler. Lucky you livin' so longa time. Youse dun have ta' live like dis. Youse lived in the ol times, when it were good.' Beffie waved an arm indicating the camp. 'Lucky you knows tings, how ta' do magjicks, how ta' help peoples, all sorts' o' tings.'

Moz looked at Beffie somewhat astonished. She had never considered her life 'lucky'. In fact, many, many times in her long existence she had wanted to end it. But a residual Catholic antipathy towards suicide had always held her back.

'O'lers are special' insisted Beffie. 'We needs you. Every O'ler.' Beffie nodded her head in Lucien's direction. 'He's better, right? Ya' cured 'im?'

Mozz glanced over her shoulder at Lucien. 'Yes. Well, I'm not too enamoured with him, this moment. But he seems on the mend.'

'See? Ya's cured 'im. Jakes' 'll be right happy 'bout that. 'An it's all goin' ta' plan.' Beffie said.

Mozz sighed. 'Yes. I guess so. And your sister Fern? And the baby? How are they doing?'

'Tha's what I comes to arsk ya', O'ler Mozz.' Beffie looked worried. 'Fern's doin' okay, perked right up with that soups ya' gave 'er. An the babby is eatin' a bit, but jus' won't stop cryin' and cryin'. Fern n' I's tried cuddlin' 'im, an' singin, but 'e jus' cries an' cries.

Mozz considered. 'He's not coughing? Or feverish?'

Beffie shook her head no. 'He drunk a bit, an' fell sleep, but only a little bit. He wakes up and cries an' cries. Iffen he don' stop Jake's gonna' do sumfin' dreadful!'

'Bring him to me, I think. Sounds colicky, but best I have a look.' Said Moz.

Beffie nodded once then dashed off. Mozz waited by the corner of the cage, her back to Lucien. She could feel his eyes on her, watching, but she refused to turn and look.

It only took Beffie a few minutes to return with the crying child. Beffie passed the squalling baby through the bars to Mozz who took the infant gently.

'Shhhh. Shhhhh.' She crooned to the child. Carefully Mozz lowered herself to the ground sitting Indian style in the dirt, cradling the crying baby as she did so. Beffie imitated her movements on the other side of the cage, sitting into the dirt as well, watching every move Mozz made.

Mozz examined the baby in her arms. The child was naked except for a rag around its loins. He had all his fingers and toes and no obvious mutations. He twisted and kicked in Mozz's lap. The child's face was flushed and red, his tiny fists clenched and his back arched as he screamed.

'Goodness,' she commented, 'he's got quite a set of lungs, hasn't he?'

'e's a right proper squawker,' agreed Beffie. 'Jake's says 'ell throttle 'im if 'e don shut up.'

Mozz laid the crying baby on it's back in the dirt and rose. She strode across the cage back to where Lucien laid.

Lucien had been watching her from his corner. As she approached he looked up to her and asked 'Colic?'

'Think so.' Responded Mozz curtly. 'I need this.' She removed the old blanket that was acting as a sunshade from its' supporting sticks. Carefully she tore a long narrow strip down the lengthwise of the blanket. She rolled this up and then laid the remaining part of the blanket back over the supports.

'You'll have to do with less shade.' Mozz told Lucien. He nodded in agreement, not trusting himself to speak as she turned on her heel and headed back to the crying child.

Mozz sat in the dirt once more and shook out the blanket. Lifting the baby up she placed his arched and squirming body into the centre. Deftly, and with the confidence of years of motherhood, she pinned his flailing arms and legs, wrapped the blanket about him and swaddled him well. Lifting the cocooned child into her arms, she positioned him, so his stomach was resting on one forearm and his head supported in the crook of her elbow.

The child wailed for a while, but slowly began to settle as Mozz gently stroked and massaged his back with her free hand while crooning and rocking him soothingly.

Softly Mozz sang to the child; 'Hush little baby, don't you cry, papa's going to buy you a mocking bird, and if that mockingbird don't sing, papa's going to buy you a diamond ring, and if that diamond ring don't shine…'

Slowly as Mozz crooned through all the lines of the old, old, cradle song, rocking and stroking the baby as she did so, the child began to quiet. Beffie watched with eyes wide as Mozz worked her 'mother magic' on the young infant.

The baby's cries settled down to a soft whimper or two, a hiccup, and quite suddenly, a burb of astonishing noise.

'There, there,' murmured Moz, 'Is that's what's been upsetting you, wee little boy? Poor wee colicky mite. Shhhh now, shhhhh.' And the child fell silent, relaxed and content in her rocking arms. His eyes were open, and he watched Beffie through the bars of the cage as his Aunty stared back at them both, her mouth agape in amazement.

'Now Beffie,' said Mozz quietly, 'In a minute or two I am going to hand him back to you. He's got a touch of colic. Maybe he drank that milk a bit too fast, he was so hungry. Had a pain in his tummy. Never mind, sometimes once they start crying they just seem to swallow more air and make it worse. Now, see how I have him all swaddled up tight? And am holding him, rocking and singing?'

Beffie nodded her head. 'Yes O'ler. I sees.'

'Well,' continued Mozz, 'some babies like being all swaddled up and warm, I think he's one of them. And he drinks too fast, so you have must watch out and make sure he has a good burp after. And rock him, just like this, soft and gentle and rub his back.' She looked down at the little bundle laying on her arm and smiled tenderly at him. The baby was relaxed, and his eyes were closing. He gave another little belch, a bubble forming on the corner of his mouth and then he fell asleep, worn out from crying.

Carefully Mozz rose, still holding the child. She looked over to Beffie. 'Ready to try?'

Beffie nodded and held out her arms through the bars.

'Here you go little laddie, sleep with your Aunty Beffie now,' and Mozz gently handed the child back to Beffie who took him. The young boy made a grizzling little sound and half woke up, but Beffie cradled him in the same manner that Mozz had, rocking and stroking his back, and he fell quietly back to sleep again.

'Tha's amazin!' she said looking at Mozz. 'You really are magjick!'

Mozz smiled wanly. 'Well, maybe just a little bit. But experience helps too. Now, keep that up, and when he wakes again give him another feed. See how you go, but if he starts on the colic again and you cannot settle him, bring him back and I'll see what I can do.'

'Tank' youse, O'ler Mozz, ever so much,' said Beffie as she turned to go.

'Oh, Beffie!' called Mozz just as Beffie turned away to leave. 'What's the little laddie's name?'

'Fern ain't decided yet, wants to name 'im afta' 'is da', but we don't think Jake would like that.'

Mozz thought. 'His dad was called 'Stone',?

'Yars, though usually we called him 'Stoner', cause he liked a spliff now an then.' Replied Beffie.

Mozz raised an eyebrow. 'Well, why not 'Peter' then? That means 'rock' or 'stone'.' Said Mozz.

Beffie smiled down the baby. 'ello 'lil Petey'. The baby made no reply but slept on.

…..

The afternoon wore on. You wouldn't think that in a cage onl meters or so that two people could avoid each other. But somehow Mozz managed to. She attended to Lucien's needs for water, assistance to the slops pail, medication (he was most amazed at the antibiotic tablets effectiveness), etc as required, but a steady stream of ferals wanting medical attention meant she did not have to engage in conversation with him.

It was only as the day wore down and young Twig arrived with their evening 'stew' that Mozz and Lucien found themselves alone, staring at each other over bowls of indiscriminate meat.

Lucien said had little all day. He had rested and thought deeply. He was wary of upsetting Mozz once again. Finally, once they had put their bowls aside he began to quietly talk.

'You remember the noise, I am sure. I am still not certain what it was. Maybe, someone pushed a red button, although from what I can tell the background radiation is not a severe as it should be for an all-out war. Maybe one of those 'near-miss' comets finally connected. That's what I think, anyway. One wiped out the dinosaurs they said, maybe we were supposed to be next. But whatever it was, it must have set a few countries into a panic and a few missiles were launched. Because they are still suffering damage, mutations,' he waved a hand in the direction of the Maxers, 'but they survive.'

Mozz said nothing but stared into the fire she had built earlier. Lucien took this as a good sign and continued.

'Then there was the fire after the bang. It was bad, but not as bad as it should have been. The world should have been reduced to a cinder if it was nuclear, but it wasn't. Look around you, trees, animals, birds. The earth is trying to recover.

'We were all together that night, remember? Alice and Matthew, their kids and grandchildren, Christopher, Amelia with her new man. You, me. Jack even had sent us a text from where ever it was he was up north, and a photo of your new grandson.' Lucien looked at Mozz who stared stonily into the fire. He thought he saw a trace of a tear on her cheek and hurried to continue.

'That bang. It shook the world, like a massive earthquake. You remember? Then there was panic. Screaming. Things falling over, everyone running. I fell, something dropped on me, a table I think. I called out to you, I thought I heard you call back. Then the ceiling came down. I couldn't hear you any more, but I called and called for you. I was buried under some rubble, trying to dig out.

'That's when Christopher found me.'

Mozz turned and looked at Lucien. Her face still.

'He pulled me from under the rubble. He dragged me free. We looked together to see if we could find anyone else…' Luciens' voice broke. 'The entire second floor had fallen in. On Alice and Matthew, on their kids. Everyone. We couldn't find Amelia, we looked, we looked for you both, really looked. We thought you were buried too.' Lucien sobbed.

Mozz got up and sat next to Lucien. Gently she stroked his back, almost exactly the same way she had comforted young Petey. 'I had gone to the Ladies room. Remember? It hit as I was coming back, I was in the hallway just about to join you all in the dining room when the ceiling came down. I… I called out to you. I didn't hear you, everything was a mess, I couldn't get through. I had to go back.' She said to him quietly.

Lucien nodded to himself, then continued. 'Then the building caught fire. We ran outside. All the sky was aglow in the City – you could see it from in the distance from the top of the hill. Remember the view?'

She nodded. She had yet to tell him that she still saw the view every day from Wonga.

'And then the hillside exploded into flame. It just, boom, went up. Everything was burning.' Lucien put his hand to his forehead. 'I was hit by something, concussed I think, but Christopher dragged me down the hill. Somehow, we avoided the fires and he found an old concrete bushfire bunker. We stayed in there. For days. A week or more, I'm not sure.'

'Then The Fall Fever hit me. I don't remember much. I know that Christopher looked after me, kept me safe in the bunker for I don't know how long.' Lucien looked at Mozz. 'He didn't have to, you know. I was never his favourite person. But he stayed. He would go out when he could and search, he told me later, bring back food, but he never found anyone but me alive. So, he would come back, give me water, feed me. I lived because of him.'

Mozz sighed.

'He wanted to go back. Back to Ballarat. He said he couldn't stay here. Everyone was dead, gone. We had to go. So, we went. It was a very long walk.' Lucien stared off, thinking about the things he had seen on that walk, the burning, looting, people hurt, sick with The Fever, or hurting others. A nightmare journey.

'Finally, we got back. The town was gone, burnt out. You won't believe where we ended up, Jea… I mean Mozz.'

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow in query.

Lucien chuckled softly and shook his head. 'Your old farmhouse. It survived. Almost everything else had burned out, but that was still standing.'

'You're kidding!' she exclaimed.

'Nope. It's still there today. It was comforting in a way, for me at least, to be someplace that held your ghost. It was harder for Chris. He tried to farm a bit at the start, but you know, he was never much of a farmer for all that he was a farmer's son. Don't think it was his fault, really. The weather was strange. I could feel it, the weather is all wrong. I tried to tell him, but he laughed at me.'

'What would you know about weather? Honestly Lucien…' Mozz started.

Lucien held up his hands in appeasement. 'I Know. Crazy as it sounds. I Know.'

Mozz considered for a moment thinking of Mah, then asked, 'and Christopher?'

With a sigh Lucien resumed. 'It rained. Remember how it rained and rained? Then it got cold?' Even though it was summer?' Mozz nodded. She remembered.

'He worked through it all, outside, in the wet and the cold. It snowed in Ballarat once or twice. I tried to stop him, told him that the rain and cold would last a long time, but he wouldn't listen, said it was just an aberration. We worked and planted. Nothing grew. You know what a green thumb I have!'

She smiled wryly in remembrance.

'But he wouldn't give up, kept trying. Then, one day in the paddock, he fell down. He had caught The Fever. It struck him hard. Very hard. I'd already seen a few cases, apart from my own, and, well, the survival rate is not high. Especially if you haven't been eating well and working too hard. I buried him up in the church grounds, near where his father's stone is. That is still there and now he rests with it.' Lucien went quiet.

Mozz laid a hand on Lucien's arm. 'Thank you, Lucien. Thank you for telling me.'

'When he died,' continued Lucien, 'I left. I started to walk. I thought I'd try and find Jack. I guess I was looking for little pieces of you. I felt you. I couldn't, no, didn't believe you were dead. I got as far as where Mildura used to be when I had to turn back. The Wind came, you see. The Wind.' His blue eyes became unfocused as he gazed into the distance. 'The Wind kept calling your name to me. So, I decided to come back and look for you again.'

'But I was taken by a group of survivors. They caught me and took me as a slave. When they found out I had been a doctor, they began to trade my services among others. It was many years, but eventually they realised I wasn't ageing, the Fever had made me Older. First they tried to hide me. Then they got scared. They had heard from others about the Olders and The Law. So, they let me go, took me far out to the desert and left me there. Then, The Wind came.

'The Wind comes, it takes everything, strips you bare, the skin from your bones. Unless you hide. I hid. It took me a long time to find my way back here. Only to be taken by this lot and made a slave once more.' He grimaced. 'Even so, It's coming here. Soon. I've tried to warn them, but they won't listen.'

The sat together quietly, shoulder to shoulder and watched the fire as the sun went down. Finally, Mozz, turned to Lucien.

'There is a plan. It is already happening. We will get out of this, and we will save the Maxers.'

…..


	4. Chapter 4

The Knife 4

"Pull down the wrong to save the Tribe from the Wind, save the mother and child and the child will save the boy from the vengeful, release the Older, restore the lost and regain the world," quoted Mozz to Lucien as they sat by the dying embers of the fire. 'That's what Mah said we need to do.'

'I don't understand. Mah? Who is Mah?' asked Lucien in confusion.

Mozz smiled. 'Mah is the one who saved me, Lucien, who cared for me and helped me through The Fever and the hard times. She is my friend, she is Older Mah. She has no eyesight, but she can See the Then, the Now and the To Come.'

Lucien looked thoughtful. 'A Seer?'

Mozz shrugged. 'She is the One Who Sees.'

In a past life, as a man of science, Lucien would have scoffed at this. But since The Fall he had seen too much to scoff, and his own experiences had led him to believe that The Fever not only cured some of ageing, it also gave them abilities beyond the norm.

He nodded in understanding. 'She Sees Time. I See Weather. I have met other Older's who also See – one could See thoughts of others, which could be frightening, another could See plants grow and where was best to sow crops. Still another could See water under rock, he was a dowser. What do you See?'

'Me?' asked Mozz in surprize. 'I don't See.' She paused, thinking.

'Every Older I met was able to See something…' hesitated Lucien.

'No Lucien. I don't See. I just live.' She sighed. 'and live.'

Lucien held his tongue. He had a theory that every Older could See in some way, Mozz just had yet to recognise it in herself.

'And the plan? You spoke of a plan, is it to fulfil this prophesy of Older Mah?' inquired Lucien gently.

'It is already in motion.' Nodded Mozz. 'The child is better, as is the mother. We have 2 more days to get you well, then we will move on the rest.'

'…and the rest is? What happens in two days?' He inquired.

Mozz gave him an impassive stare, she did not quite trust him yet. 'What happens will happen. Just do as you are told when I give you an instruction. No questions, no arguments. The less you know the less you will be in the way.'

Lucien nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her. He sensed he was on shaky ground. 'No arguments,' he agreed, 'but when you can, tell me what you will, please.'

Mozz nodded curtly to him and then rose and moved through the cage, taking care of the necessities before the evening sleep. She was beset by confusing emotions and unease. She had become to suspect that Mah had Seen that it was Lucien here entrapped, that was why she had sent Moz instead of coming herself. Mozz didn't like being manipulated. Although she had witnesed the evidence of Mozz's predictions over the years she still believed in free will.

After a few minutes of contemplation, she shrugged her shoulders. Things had been set in motion and now they had to wait play it out. She returned to Lucien and looking down at him said, 'You're as weak as a kitten. The Fever has broken, but you know you must rest to recover.' Mozz dug out the last antibiotic tablet and handed it to him. 'This is the last one. We are lucky they still seem viable. Take it, and then sleep.'

Lucien took the pill and mused, 'What a miracle of modern science this was. Will we ever come back from this? Will these children ever build the world again?' He looked at Mozz with sorrow in his eyes.

'One day at a time Lucien. Save what we can today and let tomorrow take care of itself. It always does, at least that's what Mah says.' Said Mozz.

He nodded and swallowed the medication. Mozz handed him a cup of water to wash it down. After he had drunk, he lay back on the pallet and closed his eyes. Mozz looked down at him and after a moment lay down beside him. She draped the ratty blanket over them both, closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

…

The second day of their captivity began. Waking with the sun on her face and the crazy laughing cackle of a nearby kookaburra Mozz found herself burrowed into Lucien's side, her head resting on his shoulder. He slept contentedly, snoring lightly. Carefully she extracted herself from his embrace and rose. Lucien muttered and grumbled slightly, then rolled over onto his side and continued sleeping. Mozz was slightly astonished at herself. Amazed at the ease and comfort she had found sleeping by his side once more. It had been many years since she had slept so long and so well. It felt right and natural and for the first time in a very long time her heart did not ache quite so much.

Over in the cook house she could see wood smoke rising. Quickly she did her morning ablutions while she waited for the morning meal to arrive. Lucien muttered in his sleep. She checked his forehead and felt his pulse comforting herself that he was returning to normal. Glancing up she saw Twig making his way across the oval carrying two bowls to the cage. He was alone.

''mornin' Ol'er.' He said with a grin as he handed the two bowls to her through the bars of the cage. 'Need ya' ta' go over ta' the utter side o' the cage. Onlys me dis mornin', but theys watching, so pretends like yer aferd a bit.' Twig waved a fist threateningly, the smile on his face giving lie to the action.

Mozz nodded, made a show of cowering and then took the bowls and quickly moved over to Lucien. Twig jingled the keys that hung from a piece of rope around his waist. 'That there Burly, 'e's a lazy ol' sod 'e is. Gives' me the keys and tells me youse all my 'sponsibilty now.' Twig grinned at Mozz. 'e ain't too bright, neither.'

'Well, that makes things a whole lot easier.' Mozz smiled, then quickly turned sober again in case anyone had seen her joy.

'Well, youse just stay over dere, and act scared-like for a bit,' and Twig pantomimed shaking a fist at her again while Mozz crouched down and appeared to be cowering away from Twig. She watched from the corner of the cage as Twig replenished the water and changed over the slops pail once more.

As Twig completed his tasks he said 'Summore o' the crew want ta' see ya' today. Okays?' Mozz nodded. 'And that Jake? He' says tommora'. Oler' Loozie comes ta' see him tommora'.'

'His concept of three days is pretty loose. I thought I would have three full days and nights.' Mozz commented.

Twig shrugged, 'Summun' tol' 'im that the Ol'er had woken up. Dunno ifen he can count that high anyways.' He shot Mozz another grin, then exited the cage, locking it firmly behind him. 'I'll tell thems ta' wants ta' come in a bit ta' see ya then. Mind 'ow ya' go.' He said over his should as he left.

And so, the day began again. Once more she tended to Lucien's needs, feeding him, bathing him, giving him willow tea for his headache. She encouraged him to sleep as much as possible to regain his strength and he readily complied, falling in and out of a restful doze all day. In between bouts of napping and doses of bitter tea he watched Mozz engage with the people who came all day to see her.

Young Kira came to visit Lucien a couple of times, stroking his arm between the bars of the cage and demanding stories of him, but Mozz gently shooed her away each time promising her 'later Kira, later.' Tomis and his mother also returned, the lad's condition had greatly improved. Other ferals came by in dribs and drabs, mostly women and children Lucien noticed. Very few of the males of the group visited. Mozz was kept busy doling out advice and giving instructions on herbal and bush remedies. She had, he considered, become more the doctor than he was.

Lucien was just waking from a mid-afternoon doze when he saw Beffie approach the cage. She was holding the now contented Petey and was assisting another young woman who was walking slowly and carefully to come forward. Lucien watched with interest as the scene unfolded.

'Beffie, and Petey' said Mozz with a smile, holding out her arms to receive the proffered child. Taking the baby, she held him in her arms and crooned at him gently, 'How's little Petey doing then, eh possum?'

'e slept almos' all las night Oler!' said Beffie with satisfaction. 'Onlys woke onct for a feed, and we dids' what you said and 'e hardly grizzled at all!'

The other woman spoke up softly, 'Thank youse Ol'er Mozz. I was ever so worried, thank youse.'

Mozz lifted an eyebrow at Beffie.

'Oh! Sorry's Oler Mozz, this 'ere is me sister Fern, Petey's mum.' Beffie introduced a young woman only a few years older than Beffie.

Mozz looked over the woman and smiled gently. Fern was gaunt and pale. She looked searchingly at Fern, assessing her condition. 'Please, come, sit close to the edge of the cage Fern so I can look you over.'

Fern complied, easing herself down carefully to the ground. After examining Petey quickly and reassuring herself of his continued good health, Mozz handed the baby back to Beffie and sat next to Fern on the opposite side of the bars. Mozz asked Fern several questions relating to the birth and how she was currently feeling. She reached for Ferns hand and gently felt her pulse. Good, slow and strong.

'I would like to examine you, but it's rather impossible when I'm in here,' Mozz waved a hand at the cage surrounds. 'But from what you say, you had a long and difficult labour. The pain you are feeling is normal and should ease off in a few days or so. You can make some willow tea for the pain if you like, but be careful if you are still bleeding, don't drink too much. You need to rest as much as possible, drink strengthening broths.' Mozz hesitated, then continued, 'I wouldn't recommend you get pregnant again for at least a year, if not longer. Breast feed if you are able and that will help. Also, I can give you instructions on how to make a tea that can help you avoid getting pregnant if you like.' Despite her Catholic upbringing, Mozz had long ago accepted some of the Churches' teachings were not in a mother's best interest, and Mozz knew that the ferals insisted that their women bred frequently and often. Fern needed to recover fully before having another child. She realised that Fern's partner was dead but suspected that Fern would be compelled to partner up again whether she wished it or not.

Fern smiled wanly. 'Ta' muchly. That'd be good.'

Mozz asked her a few more questions regarding feeding of the infant. Gently she asked Fern to open her top clothing, so she could examine her further. Fern nodded her agreement and slowly unlaced the ragged skin vest she was wearing, exposing her chest and upper torso for Mozz to see.

Mozz felt her heart stop. There, threaded on a piece of dirty string and resting in the hollow between Ferns full breasts, lay a heart shaped golden locket. Mozz held her breath a moment. Quickly she examined Fern then said, 'My that's a pretty little thing, where did you get it?'

Fern smiled and lifted the locket in her hand. 'It were me great-great-grandma's, me mum said. It opens up and has her picktur inside and words. See?'

Carefully Fern prised the locket open and revealed the interior to Mozz. Mozz found herself looking down at a much-faded photo of her grand-daughter, Amelia. 'Yes,' she said in a choked voice, 'I see.'

Fern smiled, 'It has words and such too.' Her face saddened slightly, 'But I cain't read, and Mum neither so don't know wha' it says.'

'It says, "To Amelia, 21st birthday wishes, love Gran", recited Mozz from memory.

'Oh! Tha's so luvely. I's often wondered wha' it says. Ta' Ol'er.' Fern carefully closed the locket and let it fall between her breasts. She smiled at Mozz.

'It's a very precious thing, Fern. Keep it safe, don't open it too often.' Mozz worked hard to keep her composure.

Fern nodded. 'Yep, Mum always said to look affer it good. When I's has a lil' girl, it goes ta' her. Iffen I don' have a girl, then if Beffie has 'un, it goes ta' her lil' one. Mum said it always hadda' go to the furst girl borned. An' youse hadda' tell the poem ta' go wid it. It tells the story o' how we come to be.'

Mozz gestured to Fern to lace her top back up. 'Poem? Can you tell me the poem?' Mozz asked hesitantly in quiet desperation.

Fern looked doubtful, but Beffie nudged her and said 'Gwan', I ain't heard it fer a good long time. I wants' to hear it agin.'

So, Fern began to chant in a singsong voice a tale that had been repeated and memorised and retold many times over the years, each generation carefully learning the correct syntax and accent even if they did not understand the words.

'Dark. Dark. Dark.

The world was Dark,

The sky was stone

alone, alone,

all alone

fire above and cold below

A tomb, a box, a sarcophagus

Then Davie came

tap, tap, tap

what's that, who's there?

broke the sky,

put down a hand

pulled from the Crypt

Amelia dear.'

Fern stopped chanting, then said, 'I don know what all them words mean, but Mum tol' us that the poem were about our great-great-grandaddy Davie come rescue her from bein' buried alive.'

'Tell the rest,' begged Beffie, and Fern began to chant again,

'Flee the fire

Run to the sea

Hold my hand

and come with me

To the valley below

where we can be

lovers, wife and family'

For two hard years

they lived as one,

'till along came a third

a robust son,

and soon another

in the form of a daughter

Till Fever stole Davies wife

robbing our mother of life.

Fern stopped chanting. 'It's real sad her dying like that. But that Davie, he were the first leader of the ferals here. An' he raised up the boy and the girl, and they was our fambly at the beginnings o' things. The boy were called Little Dave and the girl he called 'Ash' and she were our great-grandma. After Ash, there was Poppy, then mum, who was Emly, and then me and Beffie.'

'An' that Kira,' put in Beffie, 'well HER great-granddaddy were Little Dave. So, she's fambly too.'

Mozz looked at the two girls in stunned amazement.

Oblivious to Mozz's shock, Beffie continued. 'Mum always tol' us that fambly is important, and rememberin' too. She said to keep the fambly together.'

Fern nodded in agreement.

'Yes,' said Mozz in a thick voice. 'Yes, family is important. You both are lucky, very, very lucky.'

Just then, Petey woke in Beffies arms with a sqwack and a grumbling cry to indicate he was hungry again. Both girls giggled at him and Fern said with a smile, 'Well, we best go an feed this NEW bit o' fambly.' Carefully she rose, and she and Beffie waved their thanks to Mozz and slowly moved off back to the compound nursing a grizzling Petey.

In a daze Mozz rose and turned back and walked over to where Lucien laid. He had watched the entire episode without really understanding what had happened, but he could see that Mozz was very upset. He reached a hand up to her asking quietly, 'Jean? Mozz? What's wrong?'

'Oh Lucien,' she cried, 'to be so close, so close to you both, and to not know.' With that tears began streaming down her face, she knelt down and buried herself into Luciens' arms and cried as though her heart was breaking with both joy and sorrow.

…..

 _Sorry for the delay – there is more to come but it took quite a while and a couple of rewrites to work that darn locket into the story!_


End file.
